Die Before You Die: A Zen Practice in a Vintage Sports Car
There’s an old line that doesn’t care if you’re ready: die before you die. Not the body but instead the mask. The tightening. The version of you that keeps trying to look finished. Wabi-sabi has a gentler way of saying the same thing. It whispers: stop pretending you can be permanent. Stop treating wear as a failure. Stop waiting to be flawless before you’re allowed to live.
We live like the goal is to become a polished object. No dents, no scars and no awkward chapters. As if you can sand yourself down until you’re safe. Wabi-sabi calls that a losing game. It says beauty isn’t in the untouched thing, it’s in the thing that has been used, weathered, carried, repaired, and still shows up. Signs of use aren’t defects, they’re evidence of a life fully lived. So when I say “die before you die” through a wabi-sabi lens, I mean: let the fantasy of “perfect you” die while you’re still here to feel the relief.
A vintage sports car is wabi-sabi on wheels. It carries time openly and doesn’t pretend the years didn’t happen. Even when a classic is beautifully restored, it still holds a particular kind of humility. It’s built around simple truths: air, fuel, spark, friction, heat. It reminds you that everything you love is temporary and therefore worth your attention. Modern life tries to make you forget that. It wraps you in convenience and buffers your senses. You run the risk of becoming numb to life. But in a vintage sports car the wind is there. The road texture, the smell, the vibration and the little noises are there. It’s not “better” because it’s older. It’s better because it refuses to numb you.
The Perfect Road, in this philosophy, isn’t a flawless drive with perfect weather and no interruptions. It’s the ability to meet the drive you have; with open hands. To not be surprised when things change. To not be offended when life shows its seams. To not delay joy until everything is “handled.” That’s “die before you die” in real life: one small burial of what drains you, and one small resurrection of what’s true.